Why?
by BurningTyger
Summary: Years later, Elrond ponders that fateful moment at Orodruin. A Silmarillion fic.


Why?

Years later, Elrond ponders that fateful moment at Orodruin. A Silmarillion fic.

Disclaimer: J. R. R. Tolkien's descendants own all characters, places, and events mentioned herein. I just decided to do a bit of Elrond-introspection. No money is being made from this writing, and no infringement is intended.

Author's Note: I must give credit to Ardrang, whose "For Want of a Nail" inspired this story. Only the ending is actually Silmarillion-based. If you feel cheated now, remember that calling it a Silmarillion fic probably screwed me out of about 80% of the readers on this site. Poetic justice bites.

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Regret for the things we did can be tempered by time; it is regret for the things we did not do that is inconsolable. --Anonymous

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Why?

Why couldn't I do it?

It would have taken so little effort, so little struggle, to drive him off of that ledge. So lost in the ring was he, I could have cut him down where he stood and flung the ring into the fire myself. I could have taken him by the back of his cloak and thrown him down. There were so many ways to destroy the ring, and I did nothing. I had done so much murder already that day: would one more truly mean so much? I could make up any excuse -- that he fell, that one of the rockfalls had knocked him in. Why did I watch him walk away?

Was it compassion? Isildur was the son of the King, my ally and my friend. The loss of Elendil was but hours old upon my heart, and his memory haunts me still at times. He was a brave and noble warrior, the greatest of mortals I have yet seen. Did I think I owed it to him that I should protect his heir? Isildur had seemed the perfect son -- brave, loyal, wise. Yet he suddenly held so much power, so much evil in his hands. I let my friendship to Elendil justify my choice. I was blind.

Was it fear? Did Isildur have power over the Three, as well? Would Vilya, even at that moment hanging on a chain around my neck, betray me? Gil-Galad had but recently bestowed the Ring of Air upon me, and I could not bear to break faith with his memory. This is what I have told myself all these long years. What if I beheld the ring, and found myself incapable of its destruction? Could the ring seduce even an elf-lord to its will? I feared, too, that in challenging Isildur, I would lose. If I had tried to kill him there, I could easily have fallen into the chasm myself, lost in an instant of fire and pain. Lost to the Halls of Mandos, perhaps for eternity. I could have tackled him, and fallen to _my_ death as well. It would have saved so many, many lives, and yet I could not do it. I was afraid.

Was it hope? Did I believe that he would find a way to use the ring for good? Or did I believe that he could overcome the ring's power, see it for its true evil, and find it in his own heart to destroy the ring? I so longed to see Arda rebuilt after that terrible battle. There had been so many wars, so much strife. Perhaps with Sauron's end, there could be peace even if the ring survived. I was tired of fighting, and I yearned for the light of hope. I was mad.

Was it fate? Perhaps Isildur was fated to keep the ring, and I fated to allow it. If I had killed him there, if I had fallen into that fire, then it would all have ended that day, _should_ have ended that day. But would it have been for the better? It seems obvious: of course it would have been better. There would be peace, and the shadow would have been gone from our lands forever. How could my own life be too great a forfeit?

I look down from the balcony now to see my twin sons sparring and my daughter laughing as she watches. Would the world have been better had they never been born? What of Celebrian, now sundered from me? I look down at the sleeping infant in my arms. Aragorn, son of Arathorn, heir to the line of Elendil. He wakes, looks up at me solemnly with innocent grey eyes, then turns his head and sleeps again. This will be the one, the man to defy the past, to overcome the failures of his forebears. He will set this world to rights again. If I had killed Isildur, the boy would never have been born. But if I had killed him, then the boy would not be needed now.

It is no use dwelling upon the matter: it happened. In my foolishness, my fear, my hope, I let Isildur live. But it had to be this way; there was no fighting it. I do not absolve myself of this guilt, but I understand now that I did what had to be done.

Sometimes I believe I can hear the music of the Ainur.


End file.
